


"they are victims of love, many of them."

by notjustmom



Series: "You remember too much..." [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, M/M, Story: The Man With the Twisted Lip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: I was considering the line, "Hope you didn't mess up sock index this time" while I rewatched ASiB recently... and I wondered how often John and Hudders 'messed' with his sock index...





	"they are victims of love, many of them."

"Mycroft..." John sighed, as he wondered when it would ever get any easier for them.

As he slumped into his chair, John closed his eyes as he recalled the first 'danger night.' He should have expected something to happen, after the kidnapping scare and near miss of capturing General Shan, followed closely by the events leading up to their near deaths at the Pool, only to be saved by a mysterious phone call, he should have expected Sherlock to fall back on old habits, the safety of the easy high. But he had seemed normal. Too bloody normal. And then he came home from the surgery to find a note, and plenty of milk in the fridge.

John - just need a bit of time on my own. I'm fine. Don't try to find me. Please. - S

Of course, he had tried. But Sherlock's network was loyal. And he understood. God, did he understand, already. How, did this wild, brilliant man affect him so much? This wild, brilliant, gorgeous man.

He got to his feet and nodded to Mrs. Hudson. "I'll look in the kitchen, why don't you do the sock index - I misplaced a sock last time." Mrs Hudson laid a gentle hand on his face and looked him in the eyes.

"He'll be home, John. Used to be he'd be gone for days, weeks sometimes, but it's different now."

"Why?"

"Oh, you idiot boy. Because he knows you'll be here. Waiting, worrying. He's never had that before."

"Right. I'll check the loo as well."

 

Nothing. He was clean. As he was that first time, at least in the flat. Mrs. Hudson had made him a cuppa and sat down in Sherlock's chair. "Not sure I should tell you - but you are his friend, John, and though he doesn't like asking for any one's help, the last few weeks have taken a toll on him. He's been acting normal, but he's, well, 'itchy.' He can hide it when you're at home, for a couple of hours, but during the day, I know he wants to start again. But, I think he's trying to stop himself on his own. But tonight..." She wrote down the address on a scrap piece of paper, then nodded to the bug in the lamp. John rolled his eyes, but kissed her cheek, then grabbed his gun and flew out of the flat.

The cabbie let him out a block away from the address and charged him double. "Thanks."

"Not sure you will thank me later, mate." He nodded, then took off after John closed the door. He nearly jumped out of skin when he felt Sherlock's fingers on his arm. 

"Mrs. H sent you."

"She - I was worried."

Sherlock leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "I wanted to. You have no idea how much I wanted it. I just wanted the images to stop." He shook his head as John started to ask a question, and laid a finger to his lips. "I need you to see something." He didn't wait for John to try to talk him out of it, just started walking, and John followed.

Sherlock stopped at an abandoned warehouse, and knocked on the door. The girl who answered the door could've been forty, but John looked at her face and knew she might have reached twenty. "He's safe, Dotty, he's with me."

"He's your doc, then. Not bad, Sherl', not bad at all."

"Not mine. He's just - he's a good guy, and if you need me and can't find me - find him and he'll help you."

"Oh yeah." John saw the mistrust and hope mix in her golden eyes - yes, they were actually golden. He'd never seen that colour before, and he found himself nodding at her. 

"Anytime." He pulled out his card and carefully laid it in her hand. "That's my cell phone there."

"Okay. Right. Are you sightseein' tonight, Sherl', or did you need something?"

"I just wanted to show John - needed him to see, yeah?"

"Kay, I'm going to get some dinner - don't let any coppers in."

Sherlock shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it. Here - get some fish and chips - they always give too much -"

She took the notes and kissed his cheek. "Ta. Laters."

Sherlock walked through the building, flicking his flashlight he always carried with him. "See them - nearly all of them are - they are - many of them, if not all, are victims of love in one way or another. Lack of it, mostly, or they had it once, and lost it - Fred - over there in the corner asleep? He lost his family, wasn't his fault - train derailment. He couldn't save them - wasn't even in the country, was working. After they died, he tried to keep it together, for a while - but eventually, it was too much. And her - parents found out she had kissed a girl - her best friend - that was all it took for them to toss her out. She was from 'a good family'... they don't even care to look for her."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Because you need to understand. I want you to understand." Sherlock dropped a few pounds next to Fred's outstretched hand, and handed the girl a few more then squeezed her hand as she reached for him. "I'll be back soon. Promise."

He stood up and walked to the front door and waited for John to follow, not speaking again until they were safely back at Baker Street.

"I suppose I should thank you for not leading Mycroft to them. I went there to use. I did. There's always someone there selling something. But then, I thought about it, about what you had gone through over the last few weeks. And you aren't reaching for a bottle or a syringe, and I realised I wanted to be enough - I wanted to deserve - bloody hell..."

"I bought a bottle today, after work. And I fell onto the couch, turned on the crap telly and stared at the bottle. It was a good bottle, too. You have no idea how much I wanted to drown myself in it. I wanted to make it go away. I haven't slept without a nightmare since the Chinese gang - and then the Pool. Going to work is the only thing that is keeping me from - no. That's not true. I don't want to let you down."

"How could you let me down?" Sherlock asked him quietly.

"I searched the flat for drugs, your drugs, because we were, I was worried, about you. What has happened over the last weeks, hasn't just happened to me -"

"I've failed. Failed you. Since we met."

"Sherlock."

"You shot the cabbie to end our first case, then you were kidnapped and nearly killed twice, because of my arrogance, my pride, my stubbornness, because I couldn't see the whole picture, still don't know how it all fits together, but I know it does. I think it's been Moriarty behind everything, but can't prove anything yet... I've failed you every single time."

"No. You've saved me, Sherlock, more times than you know. I just want to be sure you'll be around, you know? I just want you to be here."

 

"Hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time."

"Not me, this time."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I'm beat, you ready for bed?"

"Yeah. Be there in a minute."


End file.
